


Toddler in (stolen) tiara

by nieseryjna



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nieseryjna/pseuds/nieseryjna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal was a Prince, once...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toddler in (stolen) tiara

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: White Collar is not mine, but I keep the kid Neal... of course it belongs to USA Network and Jeff Eastin.
> 
> Spoilers: minor references to “Burke’s Seven"
> 
> Beta-ed by lovely mam711
> 
> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> Cover by aragarna

_“I’ve been a prince,” Neal commented lightly._

 

“And our last contender in the three-year-old category—Neal. His favorite activities are running in the park and drawing with crayons.”

 

The toddler was pushed onto the stage, walking with much more assurance than the other children before him. He first took a step right, then left, and with not-yet-polished grace wandered to the middle, on a spot marked by an 'x'. Standing at the center of the stage, he smiled, a big sweet grin, and batted his long lashes over the amazing blue eyes. The audience half 'aw'ed, half sighed.

 

Even at three, you could see he was already a veteran of the pageants. The audience was his.

 

Two hours later he stood on the stage again, getting a blue sash over his head with an embroidered silver inscription: 'Prince'.

His eyes danced around in the lights when his gaze fell on the tiaras sparkling on the table, waiting for the announcement of the winners. Other winners.

 

He chose a moment—when they were walking back to the stage stairs—to grab the tiara, run under the legs of surprised volunteer and dash into the preparation room. Closing the door he dragged a chair to the door and put it under the handle, blocking it.

 

He stood with a tiara perched askew on his head, grinning into the mirror ... and his mother pounding on the door. “Neal, open the door ... Neal!”

 

_The end_


End file.
